Between the Midway and the White City
by defying3reason
Summary: 19th Century AU but not steam punk. Wealthy mill owner Osgood Rathaway sends his idealistic son Hartley to the Chicago World's Fair to keep him from organizing the workers, where he meets a certain Italian performer on the Midway...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: As some of you may have already gathered, I am studying to be a historian, and besides that I am a big fan of Victorian literature. I started writing this fic for the fanon cliche challenge that kind of fizzled into nothingness at the Pipster community on LJ, and even though the challenge died I've decided to finish this as a vanity project. I'm not sure what kind of response this fic will get, but I'm very happy with it and I want to share it._

_I've tried to keep everyone in character, but it is an AU set in a historical period (the late 19th century) so there are some pretty big differences between this and canon. I've made this as historically accurate as I'm able to with only casual research, so there are probably errors, and there's going to be content that is considered racist and sexist by modern standards. This should go without saying, but I want to make this perfectly clear: **I don't condone the opinions of the characters I am representing**. I'm just trying to accurately reflect the beliefs of a past era and I'm optimistic enough to think that most of these particular manifestations of racism and sexism have died out anyway._

_Hope I haven't scared anyone off from the story, I hope you enjoy it, and as always, reviews will be greatly appreciated._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Osgood looked up from the novel he was reading as his son let out yet another protracted sigh. The boy was slouching in his seat, resting his elbow on his raised knee and his chin on the elbow, gazing out the window of their private rail car as though nothing on the earth would ever please him.

Sometimes Osgood thought that was true, though he never dared to say so. Hartley was able to turn the most innocuous small talk into a verbal battle, and as such, Osgood was sure to avoid any actual criticism unless he was in the mood to have it out.

However, the boy kept sighing, which made it difficult to focus on the novel. "Is everything alright Hartley?" Osgood finally asked, careful to keep his tone light.

"No," He sulked. "We've done a deplorable thing, and now we're running away to do it all over."

Oh not this rubbish again. "It's just business my boy. Stop fretting over it so much."

Hartley's eyes narrowed. "That's exactly the problem. You see this only as business, when it's affecting the livelihoods of real people! You're destroying lives!"

"No, I'm simply running an efficient, productive business. When you're older and you've started looking after things, you'll see that this is how everyone runs their mills. And if the workers don't like it-"

"Then they shouldn't have been born poor?" Hartley sneered.

Osgood stiffened. "No, then they can go work somewhere else."

"Well how can they do that if everyone runs their businesses as sinisterly as you do?" Hartley returned.

Osgood didn't want to talk about this. "Then they should learn trades," He snapped, before holding his book to his nose defensively. Scowling, Hartley went back to sighing at the window.

He might have reminded Hartley that the boy certainly enjoyed the spoils of the family business enough that he ought not to complain the way he did. The family money kept him fashionably clothed, well fed, entertained, and had most recently sent him abroad to study music and waste his time however else he saw fit without his parents keeping watch over him.

Osgood supposed this was his own fault. He and Rachel hadn't been particularly lucky where raising a family was concerned. Their only acknowledged child had always been sickly, and as a result they'd overindulged him out of sheer gratitude for his continued survival. There were many times throughout his childhood when the Rathaways were sure they were going to bury their poor little son, but he'd slowly recovered strength every time, even from the most calamitous illness that had stricken him deaf for almost a full year. That cursed sickness had begun his wasteful obsession with music and plagued Osgood's nerves to no end.

Then there was the little girl. Rachel had given birth during the summer, when they'd sent Hartley to live with his cousins on the coast for the improved air. It was clear even from infancy that she was simple, and when she'd gotten older and the doctors confirmed she was feeble, the Rathaways sent her to an asylum without ever telling her elder brother she existed.

Hartley was still rather pale and thin, a legacy of his childhood his father supposed. Still though, there was strength to his deportment and a fire to his eyes that made it clear the boy wasn't going to succumb to any wasting illnesses without a good fight. Osgood only hoped all the work they'd done improving Hartley's health wouldn't be undone by their move out West. The Rathaways had given up all hope that their son would ever be rosy or plump, but that didn't mean they intended him to waste any further than he had to.

Osgood peered at Hartley over the top of his book and took note of how sluggish and lethargic he looked. It might have had something to do with the lengthy train ride, but then it might not. He made up his mind to keep an eye on his son, and if it looked like the Missouri air didn't agree with him then he and Rachel would be put on the first train back to Boston, to depart immediately for the house in Andover from there.

Osgood read in peace for about a quarter of an hour before he noticed how unusually tranquil the atmosphere had become. He glanced up again and noticed that Hartley was far too distracted with a book of his own for wearisome sighs. Feeling some suspicion, Osgood peered at the title of Hartley's book and frowned. Well, there was nothing harmful in the moralizing tales of Sintram, which was why he didn't believe for a second that that was what Hartley was actually reading.

Osgood suddenly wrenched the book from Hartley's hands, much to his annoyance, and shook the leaves until the pamphlets tucked between them fell to the floor of the car. "A-ha! And what is this rubbish?"

Hartley crossed his arms over his chest and sourly went back to staring out the window, while Osgood collected the IWW* literature in preparation to put it in the trash where it belonged.

"I can't believe you'd undercut your own family and your basic well being by reading this filth."

"It's not filth," Hartley protested.

"It is, and I won't have you distributing it in Central City. It's your fault we've had to move out here, and don't you deny it. I know full well who wrote those quarrelsome meddlers in the IWW to organize that blasted strike. I hope you're satisfied! It's cost me a fortune to relocate the mills out here."

"Seems an awful lot of trouble, when you might've just paid your workers better wages, shortened the workday, and given the equipment regular checks to make sure it's functioning properly," Hartley returned. He'd first gotten on the bandwagon for all this worker's rights nonsense when one of the mill girls had gotten scalped by a machine (never mind that she was a clumsy cow; Hartley wouldn't hear a thing spoken against the filthy little beast).

"You obviously haven't the faintest clue how much all that would cost!"

"So it's really cheaper to move out to the middle of nowhere where the workers aren't striking?"

"Yes Hartley, it is! Otherwise I wouldn't have bothered doing it." Osgood inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm himself. "At least we'll be getting away from all those quarrelsome Irish and Italians. I could never understand a word that was spoken when I toured the mills. And I won't make the mistake of filling my mills with Italians again. I'm sure you found plenty of fellows willing to help you topple the business among those infernal anarchists."

"Not everyone from Italy is an anarchist father."

"Find me one that isn't and I'll give the workers a ten hour day," Osgood said with a laugh. Hartley scowled and turned back to the window for more sulking.

The trip to Missouri was going to be a long one.

* * *

><p>"Quit stalling! You think it's a pretty trick now, do you? Just wait until I start jumping up and down on the wire while you're standing there shaking. That ought to make you move!"<p>

"I'm trying Papa, but if the ground would kindly oblige me and stay still it'd be a whole lot easier," Giovanni mumbled. His stomach gave another lurch. He gently set a foot down on the high wire, but quickly brought it back to the relative safety of the platform. Every time he looked down and saw his foot resting on only a bit of wire with the ground so very far away, everything started to slide and spin and the edges of his vision began to go white…

"Little angel, don't look at the ground! Look at your Papa!" His mother shouted from the ladder. "He is waiting just on the other side, and he'll help you if you need it!"

"I ought to let you drop for all the trouble you've caused us, but I never have, have I?" Papa Giuseppe returned.

It's a good thing the look of loathing on Giovanni's face was aimed ground wards, so his parents couldn't see it. The whole reason he'd developed this blasted fear of heights was because of how often his easily distracted father dropped him, but if he gave utterance to his true sentiments he was sure to get his ears boxed, or worse.

Giovanni closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the wire. Really, he knew exactly how to do this, and with his eyes closed his body moved by instinct. He just had to forget about the ground and how far away it was. Keeping his balance was a cinch. 'Just don't think about down. Don't think about down.'

"Come on boy, open your eyes! You can't do the act with your eyes shut!"

"Why not?" Giovanni demanded.

And then his father shoved his shoulder. Giovanni lost his balance and let out a yelp of terror as he started the familiar, hated descent.

Once again, the taut, scratchy ropes of the net kept him from any serious injury, but it still smarted. His mother was already yelling at his father about how now their star would have big ugly bruises on his back and arms because of him.

"Couldn't Lorenzo be the star, just this once?" Giovanni asked, interrupting their squabble. Now that he was sitting almost leisurely on the net, some of his confidence had returned. The ground was much closer now.

Papa Giuseppe climbed down the ladder, walked over to Giovanni, and gave him a good box on the ears.

"Ouch! Well why can't he do it? He likes this stuff and he never falls like I do!"

"You already know what will happen, so don't talk anymore unless you have something sensible to say!" Papa Giuseppe yelled. "You know what happens! These Americans, they sneer, and they call us wops and guineas, but you, you look like one of them." He turned a suspicious look towards his wife, who pretended not to notice as she gracefully descended from the ladder. He turned back towards his son. "You have the light hair and the handsome features that they like, so you are our star. The pay is better that way."

"I think they like looking down on us though. Swearing oaths and laughing at the wops seems like another layer of entertainment to some of them. Did we really make less money when I twisted my ankle and Lorenzo had to fill in?" Lorenzo was Giovanni's older brother, and he was very like their father, which is to say he was heavy set and as dark as Giovanni was fair.

"We're not discussing this. We are getting ready for our big show. Now get back on the line and do it with your American blue eyes open this time!"

Grumbling some colorful oaths of his own under his breath, Giovanni did as told. The Giuseppes were preparing for the big Columbia Exposition in Chicago, which meant longer hours and shorter tempers, and incidentally, lots of bruising for their reluctant star. By the time his father let him stop, Giovanni had fallen a dozen more times and had rope burns to compliment his bruises, and the cheerful news that more of the same awaited him next day, only this time without the net.

They'd never performed a World's Fair before, but Giovanni had read about them. They were supposed to be large, splendid, even magnificent things, with throngs of peoples of all sorts. It was entirely possible he could lose himself in the crowd and never step on another tightrope in his life…

'But what would I do then?' Giovanni thought, like he always did whenever he dreamt of running away. Even though he didn't much care for it, he was able to walk a tightrope as long as he didn't look down. He wasn't a bad showman; he just didn't work well with his family. If he had some way to calm his nerves, some kind of reassurance, he could even be something spectacular.

'Maybe an even better set of performers will see our act at the Fair, and they'll invite me to tour with them,' Giovanni thought excitedly. He happened to own and cherish a particularly fine imagination, which almost made up for the other dear things he lacked. In his mind's eye he filled in this new group of performers, which would be much more satisfactory than the family he currently lived with. The best thing about this new group was that they never dropped him. Second best was that they never yelled, and third was that they never beat him.

Despite the wearisome day behind him and the wearisome days ahead, Giovanni fell asleep with a smile on his face. Things could very well change in Chicago.

* * *

><p>Osgood proved himself vigilant enough to frustrate every attempt Hartley made to engage a worker in conversation. He was relentless in his quest to keep Hartley among only young people of his own station. The barrage of obligated parties, callers and dinners felt terribly smothering to the independent minded young man, especially when he considered that scant months earlier he'd been in Europe without either of his parents, completely at his liberty.<p>

Hartley grew more sullen and bad tempered as the weeks wore on, which put Osgood at a loss. He wasn't sure what to do. Hartley couldn't be left to his favorite pursuit, riling the workers. But he didn't enjoy seeing his son so morose.

Then Rachel suggested getting apartments in Chicago for the Colombia Exposition. Osgood readily agreed. He made arrangements for his wife and child to leave as soon as was feasible. Hartley could have his cherished liberty once more and be of absolutely no danger to business. And in a few more weeks, once the new mills were in order, Osgood could join them and indulge his senses in the progress of his race.

* * *

><p>The fair smelled. That was Giovanni's first and most persistent impression of the Chicago World's Fair. Of course, the city itself and the fair grounds probably smelled fine; it was likely the throngs of unwashed people crammed together, jostling their way from attraction to attraction, that supplied the odor.<p>

The Flying Giuseppes, like all the other ethnic acts, had been relegated to the Midway section of the Fair. Giovanni lost himself in the crowd the first chance he got, and once he was sure his parents didn't care to find him, devoted himself to studying his new surroundings. The Midway was a hectic collection of shops, curiosities, exotic peoples, dancers and performers of the like even he had never seen, and oddly enough, ethnographic works. He'd figured that sort of 'progress of the race' claptrap would be up at the White City, the part of the Fair the classier people were attending, but apparently the rich folks would rather take an excursion down to see the poor devils on the bottom rungs of the evolutionary ladder than have them mixing amongst the highest achievements of society.

Giovanni considered sneaking away from his rehearsal to go see the White City for himself, but ultimately decided against it. He might be able to pick a few pockets, but really there wasn't much more attraction than that, and there were plenty of pockets to pick right where he was.

He took a stroll amongst the shops, pondering over his predicament. The family's first performance was scheduled for that very afternoon, and he still loathed the idea of stepping out on the high wire. There had to be some way to appease his traitorous nerves.

Then he passed an old woman selling miracle tonics, and an idea began to blossom in Giovanni's clever head.

* * *

><p>"Alright then, this one here is supposed to be calming, and this one here is for vigor…and both of them have the bubbly stuff, so that's just a base…"<p>

"Boy, what the devil are you doing now?" Papa Giuseppe complained. He'd been looking for Giovanni all morning. Now he'd finally discovered him, not practicing like he should have been, but playing with an elaborate assortment of bottles and liquids.

Well, it was better than his obsession with dime novels, at least.

"Where did you get all these concoctions? How did you pay for all this?" Papa Giuseppe demanded.

"With my money."

"You don't have any money!"

"I acquired some shortly before acquiring the equipment for my scientific studies. Now leave me be, I've just about got the gist of this."

Reluctant and cowardly though the boy may have been, he'd never once spoken to his father so disrespectfully before. Papa Giuseppe was taken aback. "You're supposed to be practicing!" He finally managed to bellow.

"Papa, if this works, then I'll be better at my act than ever I was before. I'm making a new miracle tonic," Giovanni said proudly, brandishing a glass bottle half full of bubbling brown liquid.

Papa Giuseppe eyed him suspiciously. "Have you cracked up?"

"No sir. As far as I can tell, this'll help me with my nerves. Trust me Papa: it's science."

Papa Giuseppe nodded, left the room, and left his son happily mixing chemicals. He went to find his wife. "Helen, I think you'd better see if Lorenzo can fill in for Giovanni this afternoon. The atmosphere of this place has touched his brain."

* * *

><p>1 I'm actually setting this fic a little too early for the IWW to exist. They popped up around 1905, but I assume I'm the only person who's bothered by this. My story's set in 1893. The IWW was a socialist union, and after reading about their work on the Bread and Roses strike in Lawrence, Massachusetts in 1912, I've been dying for an excuse to have Piper interact with them.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

This may very well have been the best performance of Giovanni's life. The energetic feedback of the onlookers encouraged him in a way he'd never thought possible: the astonished, the applause, and especially the knowledge that it was all for him, goaded him into pushing himself beyond his limits, and there was no fear to hold him back. Even Papa looked impressed!

Then the young man with the pretty blue eyes and the red hair and lips walked into the exhibition room. Despite the crowd, Giovanni's eyes went right to the stranger; he stood out. His fair skin seemed to faintly glow in the crowd of sun scorched laborers. In addition, his elegant clothes and formal manner also called attention to him. Was he royalty?

All this flashed through Giovanni's mind in an instant. He pulled out all the stops for the remainder of the performance, hoping to give the refined gentleman a real spectacle.

By the time his act finished, Giovanni was short of breath, perspiring heavily, and had lost sight of the alluring stranger.

"Blast it," He cursed.

He managed to slip away from the family under the pretense of exploring the Fair, barely bothering with his dressing in his haste to find the stranger. Giovanni dashed through the Midway, hopes of locating the other young man dimming with every footfall. There were simply too many people in the crowd, even if most of them were dark, or rough like him.

The young man, with his expensive suit and elegant deportment, did stand out in the crowd though, and Giovanni found him again by an ethnographic life group. Giovanni hid himself behind a cart and observed the striking figure that had captured him so from a distance. The lovely blue eyes were studiously observing the plaster figures, delicate lips muttering observations (no doubt of the brilliant variety) only he could hear.

The man wasn't handsome by any traditional measure, but to Giovanni he was lovely. He was slender, fair, and delicate looking, much more like a woman than a man. In fact, he didn't have mustache or beard, despite being a good age for it. Otherwise, he looked quite fashionable. Giovanni felt a sense of awe with regards to the stranger.

Realizing once again that he himself was sweaty, and wearing a patched and faded suit that was terribly out of style, if it had ever been in style to begin with, he hesitated. He ran a hand through his thick yellow hair, breathed into his hand to confirm that his breath was foul, and then shrugged because there was nothing to be done for any of it now.

"Hello there." Giovanni stepped out from behind the cart and offered the man a dazzling smile.

Which he ignored, still looking at the display. Giovanni cleared his throat and tried again.

"Hello there sir. Enjoying the fair?"

"Hm?" The man turned to face him, and Giovanni fought not to swoon when the clear blue eyes fixed on him. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were talking to me. Yes, the fair's quite agreeable."

Giovanni cast about for something else to say, but all he came up with was, "That it is."

The man regarded him with amusement. Giovanni felt his face get warm. Then the gentleman extended his hand. "Hartley Rathaway."

"Giovanni Giuseppe."

For some reason, hearing his name provoked a more genuine smile from Hartley. "That's quite a name."

Giovanni frowned, hoping against hope that the young mister Rathaway wasn't unfavorably disposed towards Italians (a lot of Americans seemed to think all Italians were dark, and as such rarely identified Giovanni as belonging to that race until they heard his name).

"Just so you know," Giovanni started defensively, "The Italian race of people have accomplished many remarkable things. My Papa was going on about how the classy folks over at the White City have been gawping at all our art, or even people just trying to be half as good as us Italians."

Hartley laughed, but it was a pleasant sound devoid of mockery. Giovanni smiled in response to it.

"It sounds like our fathers would have an interesting time together. Mine believes that Italians are lazy as any other people of Latin blood, or else they're all anarchists, and he won't hire them anymore."

"You don't agree, do you?" Giovanni asked, with an air of nonchalance he didn't feel.

"No, of course not. I've just returned from being abroad, and my romps through Italy left me with a fine impression of your people."

Giovanni nodded approvingly. "Seems like you oughta be with the classy folk up at the art galleries. What brings you down to the Midway?"

"Just…knocking around and seeing sights, I suppose. I've been to plenty of art galleries and lectures, but your family's performance was the first bit of acrobatics I've seen. I found your act impressive Mr. Giuseppe."

"What, those old tricks? I was just warming up!" Giovanni boasted, though that wasn't the case. In fact, he wasn't sure he could manage another performance like that, even with another dose of his new tonic.

"Perhaps my ignorance in regards to your trade is showing, but I would think that the warm up would come before the exhibition." Hartley's eyes were shining with amusement, and Giovanni felt his face grow warm again.

"No, you've got it about right. So, er, what is your trade?" Good God, was he going to ask about the weather next? What was wrong with him? It's not like he'd never seen a gentleman before.

Granted, he'd never seen a gentleman that saw fit to converse with the likes of him before. Nor had he met a gentleman with such entrancing eyes. Giovanni wasn't even tempted to pick his pocket; he would have been perfectly content to stand there observing the other young man as long as he would allow it.

"I've got no trade to speak of, though my father would like to see me heap abuses on my fellow man as he does with our mills."

"O-oh." Giovanni endeavored to hide his discomfort at the statement. Plenty of his countrymen had taken on the dangerous, thankless burden of millwork for the sake of their subsistence, and accordingly talk of mills had become one of his father's chief ways of ensuring obedience whenever he or his brother displeased the man. "You, er, don't sound enthused with the prospect."

"Indeed I do not."

The two stood in silence for another few moments, Hartley looking expectant while Giovanni cast about wildly for something to say that might prolong the conversation. Finally, his frantic mind settled on the obvious. "Well, if you're not used to tramping around grounds like these, would you like me to accompany you? I can't imagine you'd get on half as well on your own."

"I think I'd like that very much."

Giovanni offered his arm, and without a moment's hesitation Hartley took it.

* * *

><p>Talking with Giovanni proved much easier than Hartley initially believed it would. Though he no longer fell in with most of his father's views regarding other races and other classes, the old prejudices were still Hartley's initial impulses and he had to consciously overcome them. Giovanni seemed to be exactly the kind of person that Osgood and Rachel Rathaway believed a gentleman like their son would have nothing to converse about.<p>

He was surprisingly intelligent for a performer, though he obviously lacked a formal education. His charm and pleasant features certainly didn't detract from his appeal either.

Their conversation kept circling back to the mills, though Hartley wasn't intentionally bringing it there. His family business was more on his mind than he'd thought, apparently. Rather than being put off by Hartley's bleak musings, Giovanni seemed concerned. It was...pleasant. He'd never encountered a sympathetic ear for his views before, unless you counted workers or socialists, and as they were only interested in business Hartley couldn't count them as friends.

"I don't get it though," Giovanni said after a thoughtful pause. "Shouldn't you be happy about getting to take over the mills? You'll get to change things then, won't you?"

"I'm not sure I will," Hartley admitted. It was the first time he'd given voice to this particular fear, and he felt lighter for sharing the burden. "And that's what I'm afraid of. What if my father is right? What if there is no other way to run a business? I'll have to choose between letting my family down and doing what I feel is right. And if the mills collapse, it won't just be my parents and myself who suffer for it. Even if the mills aren't providing satisfying jobs, they are jobs and I'm sure the workers would rather have them than not."

"Well, I think that no matter what, they'll be better for having someone who sees them as more than machinery in charge."

"Perhaps. I wish I could just change the entire system. Disrupt it all, start from nothing, and rebuild it so that it's fair and just."

Giovanni laughed. "You're sounding like an anarchist Mr. Rathaway. That's supposed to be my right by birth, remember?"

"I bow before your experience. Pray forgive my rudeness," Hartley returned. Giovanni laughed again, and Hartley couldn't remember ever hearing a more enchanting sound.

'Watch yourself Rathaway. You're going to get yourself into another fine mess if you don't.' It was a shame he rarely paid attention to that reasonable sounding inner voice of his, because he was sure it would have kept him on an honorable path.

At the moment, however, he couldn't say he particularly cared much for honor.

"You know Mr. Giuseppe, I have been wondering if a little anarchy might not be...healthy for some of the gentlemen in my class. In the long run, it may prove beneficial for their instruction."

Giovanni tilted his head, considering his companion. "Why Mr. Rathaway, whatever could you mean?"

There was no rational reason to believe this to be true, but somehow Hartley knew without any trace of a doubt that he didn't need to be afraid to express his true beliefs or intentions to Giovanni Giuseppe. He took Giovanni's arm again and they started along the pathway together.

"I think we ought to pay a visit to the White City."

* * *

><p>They were going to get arrested. No, not just arrested. Well, perhaps Hartley would only get arrested. He was a gentleman after all. Giovanni they'd probably hang.<p>

Perhaps the tonic had done its job too well. Giovanni had an insistant feeling that if he hadn't imbibed what he'd titled his 'Flying Elixir' (for the floaty feeling the tonic gave him, the one that made him feel he was walking on air), not only would he never have approached an eccentric young man from another class like Hartley, but he most certainly would not be planning on starting a fire in one of the exhibit halls in the White City.

Hartley smiled at him, and Giovanni felt his insides lurch in that wonderful way they'd done when he'd first taken a sip of his completed tonic. All his worries seeped out of him and he struck the match. He remained gazing at Hartley in a daze until, doubled up with laughter, Hartley tugged on his arm and the two began to run.

* * *

><p>They tore breathless through the White City, with childlike exuberance lighting their faces until they were returned to the relative safety and anonymity of the Midway.<p>

Giovanni guided them to a secluded nook just off the path, between two attractions with barely enough space for them to stand side by side. It was dark, and no one else seemed to care to venture that way.

Hartley was still clasping Giovanni's strong brown hand. He looked down at his own slender white one, and thought the image a good representation for what he felt. The strange young man was supporting him, lending him the strength nature hadn't seen fit to bestow upon him. He wondered what he was giving the brash Italian boy in exchange.

"Isn't this a laugh? It took a posh white gentleman to make an anarchist of me," Giovanni said with a smile. Their hands were still clasped.

"Well, your instincts shewed themselves. The fire certainly seemed to excite your Latin blood."

"Yeah, so what's your excuse?" Giovanni laughed.

Hartley grinned. "The same excuse as of old. I'm not well."

"Says who?"

Hartley eyed him quizzically. "Everyone, always and forever."

Giovanni looked at him with a seriousness Hartley didn't imagine the situation to warrant. "I think you're perfect."

Hartley's breath caught in his throat. His entire life, he'd only been exposed to criticism and correction. He found himself in the singular position of receiving a compliment, and thoroughly unprepared to accept it. Now it was Giovanni's turn for a quizzical look.

"Is everything alright Hartley? You're not feeling faint, are you?"

He was, but not in the way Giovanni suspected. Forgetting himself entirely, even more than when they'd started the fire, Hartley kissed his wild Italian boy.

Once he'd done it, he expected to be roughly shoved away. This wasn't a Parisian salon, or even a private sitting room, and he had no reason to expect Giovanni to be acquainted with the practices of the intellectual elite of Europe; he was a commoner, after all. Lower even, a performer. Hartley would have expected him to complain about such bizarre feminine treatment, if he'd bothered to think before acting. How to explain that he was simply appreciating Giovanni's beauty in the only way that made sense?

To his surprise and relief, he wasn't shoved away. The two young men shared a chaste kiss, and when the kiss was broken Giovanni smiled at Hartley with a fair bit of confusion in his mischievous blue eyes. "I think you're a trifle confused."

"I…that is, I…I am sorry," Hartley finally uttered in halting speech. "I did get carried away, but I'm not confused. I, er, well…I've been among men that, um, take other men for lovers. But I shouldn't have done that. It was rather too forward for our level of acquaintance."

Giovanni wonderingly touched his lips with his hand. "Seems like there should be something wrong about two men acting loverly."

"I like it. In fact, I rather prefer it to courting with the fair sex," Hartley admitted, feeling hopeful. He hadn't been shoved yet, after all, though he may have gone too far again. It was difficult to tell with Giovanni looking dazed and dreamy.

"Hm. Can we try that again?" Giovanni finally asked.

"Certainly."

They kissed again, but even before their lips touched, Hartley felt his passions excite. A thousand fantasies flitted through his mind in the space of time it took Giovanni to close the short space between them, and give him that wonderfully warm tingle on his lips. He thought of how easy it would be to slip away from the great fair with this new lover, to go further west where his parents wouldn't dare follow. How lovely the days would be if only he could keep in the company of his golden hued Italian.

And then the dreaded shove actually came. Now that he wasn't expecting it, Hartley had no chance of recovering his lost balance. He landed hard on the ground, his ankle turning worryingly under him as he went.

The physical pain didn't bother him, though he suspected he'd find a nasty bruise where he'd struck a paving stone. The expression of mingled terror and disgust on Giovanni's whitened face had stolen all his attention.

He wanted to ask Giovanni about the violent change in his temperament, but Hartley couldn't push the words past his constricted throat.

Giovanni was trembling, a fine sweat starting to form on the handsome forehead. "That was-you're unnatural. Keep away from me Hartley. I want nothing to do with your sort."

Hartley didn't regain the power of speech until Giovanni had already fled their shadowy nook for the crowded path beyond. Even then, he couldn't manage anything useful, just a quiet sob of shame and loss.

The sound was enough to discover his hiding place. A fat old woman with a brown face and only the barest bit of English found him. She said something in her poor English and some other uncivilized tongue, but Hartley didn't hear even the words he knew. She gave him a soiled handkerchief, then hurried away in much excitement, returning some minutes later with an officer.

"He is, he is sir! A white gentleman, is. No purse, no, with foot hurt. Robbed he is. Reward?"

"Goodness! Easy now son, can you tell me what happened?"

Out of convenience, Hartley took up the woman's story about a robber. The officer helped him back to his rooms, and the woman received her reward from Hartley's horrified parents.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Well you certainly picked a fine time to turn your ankle," Rachel said crossly. "If you'd open the window and let some air in this room you'd see what a beautiful day we're both missing. And all because of your poor judgment, spending so much time among those brutes at the Midway. With so many savage people about, it's no wonder you were robbed. Really dear, anything might have happened."

Hartley wished anything would. He was as bad at nursing a broken heart as his mother was nursing a body, possibly worse. Where Rachel was able to fix her attention on a variety of complaints and exert herself with long suffering sighs, Hartley single mindedly thought of Giovanni and ached to be resting in his strong arms instead of a couch.

"Hartley, are you listening to me? I just said you really ought to be more careful. I don't think you should spend any more time at that dreadful Midway, even when your ankle is healed."

"Is the White City really much safer mother?" Harley asked, feigning disinterest. "I'd heard there was a fire there yesterday."

"Yes, well…that's beside the point." Her point, anyway. "Overall it's positively picturesque with civilized company. Would you like me to read to you?"

It would be better than the conversation. "Why not?"

Rachel's faithful attention to her poor son just wasn't up to the task of watching him suffer so wearisomely while things were so dull in their rooms and so bright and gay without. After an hour of rather unenthusiastic reading, she sent a servant to be his nurse and went to attend a lecture.

Hartley immediately sent the servant away, so as to have a proper sulk on his own.

* * *

><p>Later in the day Hartley was napping on the couch by the window, that being the only reason he heard the raps on the glass. They were quick and soft, which was lucky because if anyone else had peered out the window to investigate they'd have gotten a scare.<p>

As it was, Hartley only started a little, being much too exhausted for more than that. Giovanni was hanging just in front of the window, bracing himself with a foot kicked out against the strong limb of a tree he'd climbed to get there. The height alone would have made a sensible man dizzy enough to lose balance. However, Hartley was beginning to harbor some of his father's doubts about the Italian race's capacity for sense.

"What on Earth are you doing?" Hartley hissed.

"Oh good, I guessed right. Hi Hartley. You were right about your parents setting you up with a ritzy set of rooms. Can you help me in?"

"No! I'm an invalid again because of you!"

Giovanni's face fell. "I hurt you?"

Hartley merely nodded, lest he betray the extent of his true injury.

"I'll try to get in on my own then. Can you move back a bit? Let's see, this ought to…" He sprang into the air from the tree, caught the ledge firmly with both hands, and pulled himself into Hartley's room. "There now. Where are you hurt?"

"M-my ankle."

"Oh. That's it? Well that's not so bad. I've injured both my ankles more times than I can count. You should heal up fine." Giovanni took the chair from Rachel's writing desk, set it down across from Hartley's couch, and then sat down in front of him. He looked perfectly content, making Hartley wonder if the discomfort and awkwardness that seemed to hang heavy in the room was only felt by him.

"I've got rather a nasty bruise on my left side," Hartley said, indignant at having his injury brushed aside.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you pain," Giovanni said, in such a sorrowful tone that Hartley suspected he meant more than a hurt ankle and a bruise.

"You could have just said you'd changed your mind. I'm perfectly capable of contenting myself with the…the acceptable forms of friendship-"

"Even when you want something else?"

Hartley paused for a breath. "I don't often have a choice."

"But you've courted with boys before?" Finally, some emotion other than easy good humor showed on Giovanni's expressive face. He looked an odd mix of hesitance and eagerness.

"Yes, when I was abroad. As long as you're rich enough and private about it, all sorts of gentlemen will court you in Europe." Hartley guessed that they would in America as well, if his parents ever gave him room to breathe.

"Hm. What if you're not rich?" Giovanni asked. His mildly curious tone angered Hartley.

"Then I'd imagine you'd need even more discretion. Why? Why are you here plaguing me with these questions? I thought you wanted to be left alone."

"I did when I was scared, but I'm not scared now." Giovanni took Hartley's hand in his and regarded him with the utmost sincerity and affection. "I haven't been able to stop thinking of you, and it's driving me to distraction. I want to be with you Hartley Rathaway, however you'll have me."

"I want to be with you too," Hartley said, hesitating only a moment, eyes fixed on Giovanni's. "I don't know that we can-"

"Sure we can. Who's going to stop us? I just said, I'm not scared anymore, and when I'm not scared I can do anything." Giovanni smiled, his joy infectious. "I've got nothing to tie me to this place, or anyplace. I'll just follow you wherever you go."

"You really mean that?" Hartley asked. Giovanni took both his hands while nodding vigorously. He felt it too, but he had to ask anyway. "Why me? Why…what makes me so special?"

"I don't know, but I feel it and I trust it. I knew something in Chicago would change things for me, and it's you. I felt it when I saw you in that exhibit hall, and I knew it when we lit that fire. And when you kissed me, well, I'd never been more certain of anything in my life. Even if I did make a fool of myself about five seconds after, but that's part and parcel of knowing me. I, er, make a fool of myself rather a lot."

"It's alright, I forgive you," Hartley said, feeling tenderness towards such a handsome display of repentance. Giovanni gently brushed his fingers over the injured ankle, then lightly trailed them up Hartley's calf, resting on his knee. "As it would only be a short fall onto a padded surface this time, is it alright if I risk another kiss?" Hartley asked.

Giovanni's eyes were sparkling with a sense of adventure. "Try it and see."

Hartley leaned forward and kissed the other young man, but their lips had hardly touched before he pulled away. "Giovanni, what is that horrendous flavor?"

"Hm?" Giovanni absently touched his mouth with his fingers. "Oh, you must have tasted my tonic. I only just drank it before I decided to come and see you."

"Tonic?"

Giovanni lowered his eyes, looking a tad embarrassed. "I have a small problem with heights which, as you can imagine, has a tendency to impede my abilities when I perform. I invented a miracle tonic to give me courage and it's worked marvelously. I drink some of it before every performance."

Hartley frowned as something occurred to him. "Including that performance I saw yesterday? When we first met?"

"Yes, that was only the second time I'd ever used it, so I had rather a larger dose than was wise. Hartley, what's wrong?"

Hartley looked down at their clasped hands, then back to Giovanni's pale eyes, enchantingly lit by fondness for his companion. He swallowed around a suddenly constricted throat. "Don't you think, that is...isn't it possible that the tonic...wore off when you knocked me to the ground?"

"Oh. I suppose that is possible."

"And when it wears off today, do you think it's possible that you'll have another change of heart?" Hartley felt close to tears at the thought.

Suddenly Giovanni looked just as grave as Hartley felt. "I do see where you're coming from." He frowned, thinking it over. "But I know I'm in love with you."

"You are now, but you won't be soon, and I don't intend to go through that a second time." Hartley withdrew his hand from Giovanni's, preparing to mentally withdraw as well.

"Well wait a second, there's got to be some way we can work this out."

"How could we possibly work this out? Unless you intend to continually alter yourself with your tonic, and I have to say, the prospect of beginning a romance with someone who needs to be in an altered state to love me is less than appealing."

Giovanni looked positively heartsick. "But Hartley…"

"Don't trouble yourself Giovanni. Your heart ache will clear itself up once your tonic runs its course." His on the other hand…

Giovanni stood, his head low. "If that's how you feel…"

It wasn't in the least how Hartley actually felt, and the other boy had barely taken two steps before he lost the fight to keep his tears hidden. Giovanni was at his side in an instant, and Hartley hid his face in his hands, ashamed of the display of emotion. He couldn't help it though; in all his two and twenty years he'd never had the kind of companionship Giovanni had offered him, the kind entirely free of expectations, and it was all a lie.

Giovanni coaxed Hartley's hands down, framed his face in his strong hands, and kissed him until he stopped crying. "Hartley, I swear to you that my feelings are real. When the tonic wore off, I still thought of you and wondered at my behavior. But I didn't think I could show my face to you until I'd had some of the tonic. I think I'm just confused when it wears off, but now that I feel this strength and confidence I know that my feelings for you are…well, I'm not a poetic fellow so I don't have words for it but if you give me a chance I'll show you what I feel."

Hartley was struck with sudden inspiration. "Giovanni, can you help me to the writing desk? I've had an idea."

"Oh, um, sure." Giovanni brought the chair back to the desk and then carefully helped Hartley sit at it. He impatiently watched as Hartley composed a short but elegant letter. Hartley read it back twice, folded it over, and then beckoned Giovanni close. Giovanni knelt in front of him. "What was your idea?"

"This. It's for you, but not just yet." Hartley pressed the letter against Giovanni's breast. "Read it once the tonic's worn off and if it…if it works, you'll come back to me."

Giovanni placed his hand over Hartley's thin one, still pressing the letter to his chest. He lovingly stroked the side of Hartley's face, kissed him again, and then stowed the letter in an inner pocket of his jacket. "I will come back to you Hartley, I promise."

Hartley very much wanted to believe him.

* * *

><p>Hartley passed the next week in a state of agony. In a way it was fortunate he'd hurt his ankle, as his parents were able to dismiss his mood on that account. However, his thoughts were fixed on Giovanni alone.<p>

Giovanni, who failed to reappear long after his tonic must have worn off. Hartley was forced to admit by the close of the second week that he'd lost his wild Italian boy. The third week he spent in a state of desolation. There seemed little point in recovering his strength. If he did, he'd be pressed to accompany his mother to the fair, where he'd find reminders of Giovanni at every turn. He much preferred feigning continued discomfort and being left alone to watch the days pass.

Sometime during the gloom of that third week he admitted to himself that the entire romance had been a foolish dream. Just what would they have done even if Giovanni really had been in love? If Hartley were completely honest, Giovanni could no more follow him back to Central City than he could accompany the Flying Giuseppes. They would have been parted eventually, whether as lovers or estranged friends.

With time Hartley's injuries faded into an unpleasant memory, and his heart slowly began to mend. He took up some of his old pursuits, such as pestering his father about business, and was surprised at the man's reaction. Osgood seemed pleased with remarks that usually agitated him.

"It's good to see you back to your old self," he explained, no doubt in response to Hartley's obvious confusion.

"Oh, is that all? I had hoped you were taking me seriously."

Osgood smiled indulgently at him, and Hartley returned it, albeit in muted capacity. "Hartley my boy, it is relief beyond words to see you untroubled. I was beginning to think you would never smile again. If it would help your spirits continue to improve, I'll see about getting the workers a raise. Not a large one, you understand, and I'll have to talk it over with the accounts mana-"

"Father, it would mean the world to me," Hartley said with all the earnestness he could muster, hoping to demonstrate the significance of this action before Osgood could talk himself out of it.

"Al-alright son. A small raise it is."

"For all the workers, right? Not just the skilled ones or the men in the office?"

Osgood's expression was near a grimace. "If you insist. An exceedingly minimal raise for all the workers."

"Even the Italians?"

"I took great pains not to hire any, but I assure you, if there were Italians working in the new mills then they would get raises as well, now will you be satisfied?"

Likely not. Mentioning Giovanni's race brought a fresh pang of remembrance, but Hartley endured it and kept his manner light, lest his father determine that the raise would not bring enough cheer from Hartley to be worth the expense. He threw his arms round his father's neck, taking effort to smile. "Thank you father, a thousand times over! And I'm sure all the families you're helping will thank you too."

Osgood kept any feelings of disease to himself, returned the embrace, and then regarded Hartley with obvious affection. "We can put it into effect week after next, when we return to Central City."

Hartley gave a start at the unexpected declaration. "We're leaving Chicago so soon? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Hartley, we'd settled the date for our departure before you and your mother even left the city. Don't tell me you've lost track of time to such an extent?"

"Being shut away so long with my bad ankle must have confused me. I'll have to get my fill of the Fair before two weeks pass, I suppose."

He wasn't sure exactly why the impending departure had such a strong effect on his emotions, but Hartley found the news decidedly unwelcome.

* * *

><p>Time has an unfortunate habit of passing in exactly the way we wish it won't. The days to the Rathaways' departure for Central City slipped away in a dizzying manner, and before Hartley had begun adjusting himself to leaving the Fair forever it was the night before the very day they were to leave.<p>

Hartley got leave from his parents to take a walk unaccompanied, though to appease them he kept himself confined to the White City. He'd been getting on better with his parents than any time in his memory, and Rachel had feared the dangers of the Midway ever since Hartley's "attack".

Hartley tried not to think of Giovanni, but really there wasn't much else to think of. The White City was dull beyond words. It was also almost deserted; he even heard a few gentlemen passing him talking of plans to romp through the Midway. Before Hartley realized it he was standing in front of the exhibition hall where he and Giovanni had set their fire. How he would have liked to nurture Giovanni's naturally rebellious spirit! How he would have liked to leave his exploitive existence with his manufactured aristocratic family behind.

But he wasn't strong enough to do it alone.

A sigh reached his ears, and for a moment Hartley thought it was his own expression of wistfulness. Then he turned his head to look around, aware that the sigh hadn't come from him at all, and sounded more of…longing?

Hartley's eyes widened as they locked on a familiar head of thick yellow hair framing a handsome face and sparkling blue eyes. For a moment the two men merely gazed at each other, then, with a whitened face, Giovanni turned tail and ran.

Without a moment's thought Hartley chased after him, giving no thought to his lifetime of weak health, the fact that he'd never run more than a few paces at any point in his life and he was attempting to pursue an acrobat, or that the ground had been paved over in a hurry and therefore not particularly well and the significance that that would have on a recently healed ankle. He ran after Giovanni with every bit of strength he could muster, and at one point got quite close to the athletic young man.

Then Hartley's foot caught on a loose paving stone and he fell flat on the ground. He swore an oath and tangled his fingers in his hair, breathing loudly and quickly, sure that if he cried out again he'd never stop. Giovanni was sure to get away now, and he'd never have another chance to speak with him again.

"H-Hartley? Are you alright?"

Hartley looked up, surprised to see Giovanni stooping over him. "You didn't hurt your ankle again on my account, did you?"

"Why on earth did you run?" Hartley put forth in a strangled voice.

"…Well you know I'm a fool and a coward already. But your ankle's okay?"

Hartley slowly rose to his feet, ignoring the hand Giovanni offered. "It seems to be." He gave his ankle a full rotation and then dropped his foot back to the paving stones. "Now will you speak with me like a man or shall I pin you to the ground first?"

Giovanni laughed nervously. "I'm not sure you noticed this, but you never came near enough to catch me Hartley."

"You're near enough now."

Giovanni ran a hand through his air, exuding raw nerves, but the handsome smile was still on his face. "I suppose I do owe you a conversation. Let's walk a bit though. There aren't many folks in this area, but the ones that are are already gawping at us."

Hartley hadn't noticed, but he supposed it was true. He strode along with Giovanni, keeping a polite distance between them so the other man would know he wasn't in Hartley's favor. "So what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Not a whole lot. I don't have any excuses Hartley. All I can say is that I tried to come and see you again, but my courage kept failing. I read your letter over so many times that I learnt it by heart, but it didn't help. Once I got close enough to your apartments I started thinking about how…how everything would change. And I want things to change, but then at the same time I don't. It seems to me that the two of us are right at the edge of some enormous precipice, and that once we take the big step together it's all or nothing and we can't ever go back again."

Hartley nodded to himself, glad to hear Giovanni speaking the truth in such a sincere voice. "I've felt that too. It…seems very unlikely that we could ever tell anyone of our feelings. My parents would never understand. They intend for me to marry the daughter of one of their friends. Until recently I'd accepted it as an eventuality, and figured that if she were as little invested in me as I am in her, I would still court gentlemen on my own time. However...that arrangement has lost its appeal."

Hartley stopped walking and closed his eyes, urging himself to say what needed to be said. "I wish you were to be the only person I ever had to love, because I believe I do love you Giovanni. I know it's foolish, and that we only spent two days together, but the intensity of feeling I experienced in those two days has convinced me. My heart is yours, so do with it what you wish, just please consider me before you act."

Giovanni's face darkened as he thought over Hartley's words. He paced along the walk while Hartley waited, in an agony for Giovanni's decision but hopefully presenting a calm exterior.

After a seeming eternity Giovanni approached Hartley, took his hand in his, brought it to his lips, and gently kissed it. "I love you too. I know I do, and I'm not on that infernal tonic, so don't you worry for that."

With an exclamation of joy, Hartley threw his arms around Giovanni and pressed him close. He wasn't aware that he'd cried until Giovanni wiped the tears from his face.

"But what do we do Hartley? My folks are going to stay here for the rest of the Fair, and once it's over we'll be off Lord knows where for some other miserable venue, and it's probably not going to take us anywhere near you. I'll have to run away."

Hartley frowned. "I don't want to ask you to leave your family-"

"My apologies darling, I had no intention of misleading you into thinking I had any kind of attachment to my relations."

"You…don't mind leaving your family?"

There was something sad in Giovanni's grin. "You mean my father who isn't really my father, who beats me senseless if he gets in the mood, or my mother who looks on, glad that it's me and not her? Or my useless older brother, who has the nerve to be envious of me for being the star of the act? Hartley dear, I have no qualms about abandoning any of them. My only concern is that working with my family has been the source of my bread. If I leave them I can't very well support myself, let alone giving you the life you no doubt expect and fully deserve."

It was Hartley's turn for a wry grin. "And my dear Giovanni, now allow me to apologize for misleading you into believing that I had some sort of attachment to my wealth. I really don't. If it had been earned through honest practices then that would be one thing, but as it's come through the sweat and toil of tired masses my parents choose to keep faceless, our wealth sickens me."

"Oh." Giovanni shook his head, an infectious smile on his handsome face. "So you mean to tell me that I've been worried sick over nothing? That neither of us have any particular investment in the lives we lead and therefore nothing to keep us as we are?"

"I suppose not," Hartley said with an answering smile.

"Then I suppose we really ought to run away together."

Hartley clasped both of Giovanni's hands in his. "That's just what I was thinking."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'm putting the finishing touches on the epilogue and then I'll post it. I'm really sorry for taking so long finishing this story up. I'd been reading 19th century women writers to get the flavor of the text right (and because I LOVE that particular brand of chick lit), and I switched from Louisa May Alcott and Mary Cholmondeley to Jane Austen, which is not only earlier in the century but with decidedly differently behaved protagonists. The story kept coming out too sentimental even for me, which tripped me up (let's face it, I'm no Jane Austen). I think I rewrote this part half a dozen times. Anywho, the epilogue will let you guys know what Hartley and Giovanni get up to once they run away, so I guess I'd better finish it off. Hope you guys have as much fun reading my little AU as I had writing it and thanks in advance for any feedback :)_


	4. Epilogue

**SOME WEEKS LATER…**

"I don't know if this was the best idea Iris."

"Now really dear, how did you expect us to come out west and visit you?" Iris West asked, gently teasing her fiancé.

Barry took a moment to collect himself before entering into the argument once more. "Iris my dear, there is a very specific reason that this specific rail company asked for the presence of a lawman on this specific train. It's been robbed three times in the last two weeks by a reckless duo in flamboyant attire. I really don't think this train is anyplace for a lady and her nephew."

Said nephew was pressing his freckled face to the glass of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of any robbers that may approach their train car. "Do you really think anyone'll rob us?" Wally asked eagerly.

"They may try, but I doubt they'll succeed with Barry looking after us," Iris said gently, regarding her nephew with open fondness.

With a forceful tug to the collar from his aunt, Wally reluctantly sat back in his seat, but continued shooting the occasional glance out the window. "I don't mean to slight you Mr. Allen, but you're just a normal lawman. If a couple of bandits really do show up with pistols firing, maybe that masked hero the Flash will show up! Wouldn't that be a sight?"

Iris looked much less enthused at the prospect than her young nephew, but she continued to indulge him. "It would certainly give me something to write home about, that's for sure."

Barry tried once more to convince Iris and Wally to leave the train at the next stop, where he had friends they could stay with until they could be safely conveyed to their destination, but Iris again refused, and there was no talking the young boy into leaving a train where real live bandits might actually try to rob and kill people, so Barry gave it up and went about his work. Much of the ride was dull, and truth be told he was more than a little grateful to have Iris there to talk to.

The excitement of the train ride very soon became monotony for poor Wally. It became clear to him that bandits were just about the only thing that could make a train ride very much fun, and though he kept his face pressed against the glass of the window, it was more to support his head while he dozed than to peer into the distance for train robbers.

Then, as he was just nodding off, he spotted a couple of specks in the distance. Startled, Wally leaned against his seat to see better, and then shook his aunt's arm. "Aunt Iris, Aunt Iris! There are men on horses out there and they're coming this way!"

Wally's words kicked up an absolute commotion on the train. All the finer looking folks started shouting with worry, a few of the less sensible looking for a way to leave the moving train, and a lady in a pink silk dress fainted.

Barry stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle. "Now that's enough of that! Gentlemen, ladies, kindly hide any valuables you may have on your person, remain calm, and please take your seats. I'll settle this." The passengers reluctantly retook their seats, and Barry left the car to go speak with the conductor.

Iris was in a flurry of excitement. "Here, Wally, take this bag for me and find some paper. I want you to help me take notes, okay partner?"

"Sure thing Aunt Iris."

One of the horsemen rode up close to their window. Wally's mouth hung open as he gawped at the strange looking man. He was wearing a long green coat with white buttons. It reminded Wally of something he'd once seen an actor wear. The man also had a wide brimmed hat and scraggly looking copper colored hair. He was dusty and messy and sun burned, but he looked like he was having more fun than anyone Wally could ever remember seeing.

The man noticed Wally staring at him and for a moment their eyes met. Wally was determined to hold the robber's gaze, even if he was a murderous bandit (no one at his school had ever stared down a murderous bandit before, and boy would the kids in Blue Valley get a kick out of hearing about this one!). Then the bandit smiled and winked at him.

Wally's heart sank. What kind of murderous bandit smiled and winked at little boys? Clearly he was going to have to give this story some work before he shared it with his classmates.

The robber nudged his horse, and then they shot out of view. Wally was so focused on the bandit that had rode under his window that he was taken by complete surprise when there was a thud from the roof of their train car.

Several of the passengers screamed, and the woman who had fainted, who had just revived, fainted again.

Iris gazed at the roof with a bemused look on her pretty face, the kind of look a more normal woman would have worn while inspecting yards of fabric she was considering for a new dress. "Well isn't that interesting. Wally, I do believe that other one is on top of the train."

"Are you going to write that down?"

"Already did partner. If you want to sell your stories to the paper then you've got to be quicker than that. I wonder where Barry went. He's supposed to be protecting us from these dangerous criminals."

The door to their car burst open, and the criminal that had winked at Wally appeared in the doorway. He tipped his hat to the terrified passengers with one hand, showed them his pistol with the other, and made his way confidently down the center aisle.

Up close he wasn't at all what Wally expected. He was too skinny, and the dust on his front probably only came from that very day's journey to the train. He was immaculately clean otherwise (he'd even cleaned under his nails!). "Aw, Aunt Iris, he's just a regular gentleman pretending to be a robber," Wally whispered, needing to share his disappointment.

"Hi folks. I don't suppose any of you have ever been in this particular situation before, so I'm disposed to tell you that this here is a hold up. Kindly put anything of value in this bag and things won't need to get any more exciting than they already are."

Wally crossed his arms over his chest and let out a loud 'hmph'. Iris tapped her foot impatiently against the floor of the car, wondering again where her fiancé was. "Honestly, Barry Allen has to be the slowest man alive."

Wally thought they might finally get some excitement when the robber stopped in front of his seat, but he merely tipped his hat again and continued on. Apparently he wasn't in the habit of robbing little boys and women travelling without a grown male companion. What a disappointment.

Then he saw the woman who had fainted. "Goodness, is she alright?"

"You've only scared her half to death!" her outraged husband shrieked.

"I'm so sorry! Here, I've got some smelling salts if you think they'll be of use!" The robber dug wildly through his pockets, secured the salts, and handed them off to the befuddled looking husband. After a moment's confused pause, he dutifully waved them under his wife's nose.

Wally slapped a hand to his forehead. This really was just too much. Before Iris could stop him, he charged out to the center aisle and ran right up to the crook.

"Excuse me sir, but you are the most abominable excuse for a blood thirsty bandit that a fella could ever see! This is _not_ how you rob a train!"

The robber, far from being insulted or upset by Wally's outburst, regarded him with amusement. "It's worked out pretty well for me so far. But now you've got me curious. How would you go about robbing a train?"

"Well for starters you're supposed to shoot into the air so we know you'd actually kill us if we tried to stop you. Instead you're acting like you don't want to hurt anybody. If that's the case, then why should we give you our money?"

"Wally, get back here!" Iris hissed.

The robber turned his attention briefly to the angered looking woman, mistaking her rage for concern. "Don't worry ma'am, I'll return him to you the way I got him." He then turned back to Wally. "What's your name little fella?"

"Wally West."

"Well it's nice to meet you Wally West. I'm Hartley, and I'm a little new at this bandit lifestyle myself, but one thing I learned real quick was that if you fire a whole lot of shots in the air then you run out of bullets right quick, and there's nothing worse than having to reload your pistol at an inopportune moment. That's why I make all my shots count."

"Oh." Well that made sense.

"Now, there might actually be a scuffle if my partner hasn't finished everything he's supposed to, so would you please take your seat and stay there? I'd hate for you to get caught up in the crossfire and end up hurt on my account."

"Alright, I guess. But only if you promise to make this robbery interesting. I gotta have _something_ to say to my friends in Nebraska."

Hartley grinned. "I'm sure my partner will give you plenty to talk about." He went back to collecting valuables from the passengers, and Wally hopped back onto his seat.

Iris gave him a tap upside the head. "It's a wonder he didn't throw you off the train Wally."

"Oh come now Aunt Iris, can you really imagine that fella throwing anybody off a train?"

In full truthfulness, Iris was as surprised by the robber's gentle manner as anyone else on the train, but he was still a bandit and she didn't like him getting close to her nephew.

Three sharp raps sounded from the roof of the train. Hartley looked up, smiled, and threw his sack over his shoulder. "Well folks, that's my cue. It's been a pleasure. I hope you all have an excellent time when you get to your destination."

He started whistling as he walked for the end of the car he'd come in at, and he was just approaching Iris and Wally's seat when the door slammed open and a man in red appeared in a dizzying rush of movement. Wally jumped up in his seat and hollered. "It's the Flash! It's the Flash! This'll be the best story ever!"

Iris handed him his notes, a wry grin on her face. "You might need these partner."

Wally immediately dropped his pencil, hands flying to his face in wonder as the Flash sucker punched Hartley just as he'd been taking aim with his pistol. Hartley dropped the pistol, but he swiped the Flash's feet out from under him, and the two vibrantly clad men tumbled to the floor of the car. They wrestled with each other, fists flying, the Flash getting the better of Hartley with his superior size and strength.

Then Hartley reached into his sack, pulled out a flute, and bashed the Flash over the head. The Flash crumpled to the ground, landing in a heap in front of the panting crook. Hartley's hat had gotten lost during the fistfight, and his copper colored hair was sticking up at all different angles.

A scream from the front of the car brought everyone's attention to the doorway, where a pale blond head was suspended upside down. "Hart? What's taking so long? I gave the signal an age ago!"

"Where the blazes have you been Gio? That creep the Flash showed up!"

"As the plan involved me slowing the train enough for the horses to keep pace, I've been occupied doing just that!" The man, Gio apparently, flipped down from his perch and landed gracefully on his feet. He was wearing a coat like Hartley's, but in a deep blue with canary yellow stripes and a great silk tie in a clashing shade of orange.

"Are you alright?" Gio bent down in front of his partner, a frown of concern marring a face that was clearly meant for only emotions light and pleasant. Hartley's cheeks colored, but he nodded. "Just a split lip and some hurt pride. But I think we'd best be off, for the sake of the horses as much as our own."

"When you're right you're right. Let's go." Gio helped Hartley to his feet, and the two crooks ran for the car's exit.

Wally looked around at the other passengers, most of which were staring straight ahead with identical expressions of bewilderment on their faces. He jumped past his aunt and out to the center aisle again.

"Wally, for goodness sake!" Iris bellowed.

Wally jumped over the Flash's still form, jogged a few paces and reached his goal. He picked up Hartley's wide brimmed hat and popped it on his head. "How do I look Aunt Iris?"

"Like a hooligan, now get back here!" But Iris had left her seat as well. She bent down to examine the Flash, who had taken quite the nasty hit from that flute. Iris pulled back the man's hooded mask, and let out a startled cry. At first Wally thought it was because of all the blood matting the man's blond hair to his head, but it was recognition.

"Barry Allen you fool! You were going to let me marry you without telling me about your double life!"

Wally ran over to his aunt and unconscious soon to be uncle, holding the hat to his head as it was much too large for him and in danger of falling off. "Aunt Iris, you're still going to marry him right? He's a hero! I mean, I mean, he _usually_ catches the crooks, and besides, no one at school has a masked hero for an uncle. Aunt Iris, please!"

Barry let out a groan and clutched at his head. "Urgh…what happened?" His eyes slowly fixed on his fiancée's face, and for a moment he smiled at her. Then his vision cleared a bit more and he took note of her expression. "Iris…dearest darling?"

"Dearest darling, hm? Barry Allen, you and I need to have a discussion."

And meanwhile, two riders were making their way into the distance.

* * *

><p>Giovanni went into town the next morning to sell as many of their valuables as he could and place an order for a new hat with their tailor, Mr. Gambi. He stopped by the general store to get some ice for Hartley's jaw and decided to pick up a paper while he was at it.<p>

He got back to their little house in high spirits. Hartley was sitting on the couch exactly as Giovanni had left him, wearing very little as a consequence of their post-train robbery activities and dozing peacefully. Giovanni leaned over the back of the couch and woke his man with a kiss. "Hey there darling. How's your jaw feeling?"

"Like a great nasty bruise. Did you bring the ice?" Hartley asked.

"Sure did. I picked up a paper too. You'll never guess what they're calling you now."

"Calling me? Why on earth is anyone calling me anything?" Hartley sat up straighter, interest clearly caught by Giovanni's words.

"You're known as the Piper now, on account of the way you bashed the Flash on the head with that instrument."

Hartley let out a startled laugh. "That's not bad. I suppose I could get used to that. But what will we call you?"

Giovanni dropped onto Hartley's lap, the ice forgotten as he leaned in for an affectionate brushing of his cheek against his partner's slender white throat. "I'm sure I'll get a handle of my own eventually." He placed a kiss on Hartley's throat, enjoying the shiver that followed it. "Now did you need that ice straight away?"

Hartley tangled his fingers in Giovanni's thick yellow hair, holding him right where he was. "Not in the least."


End file.
